


And I Didn't Believe Them When They Said There Was No Saving You

by mytimehaspassed



Category: Trinity (TV 2009)
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonty gives Ross to the river because a warrior’s pyre isn’t enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Didn't Believe Them When They Said There Was No Saving You

**AND I DIDN'T BELIEVE THEM WHEN THEY SAID THERE WAS NO SAVING YOU**  
TRINITY  
Jonty/Ross  
 **WARNINGS** : Spoilers for the whole series; character death

  
I.

Jonty gives Ross to the river because a warrior’s pyre isn’t enough. He takes Ross’ body from the coffin because he can’t imagine watching him burn, not after everything they’ve been through, not after everything they never got to become.

Ross is heavy against Jonty’s shoulder, heavy and solid and still, and Jonty stumbles in the forest, stumbles and falls and pushes himself to stand even when he feels his head start to ache, his fingers and his legs and the muscles in his arms from holding Ross so close to him. He staggers to the river and he carries him inside, and for a moment he won’t let him go, for a moment he can’t let him go, the water filling Jonty’s shoes, pasting his clothes to his skin, sliding across his chest.

For a moment, Jonty thinks it wouldn’t be so bad if he went under the water with him, letting the current fill his lungs, letting himself be swept out to sea.

For a moment, Jonty thinks it wouldn’t be so bad if he died right here, Ross’ body still in his arms.

And then he lets go.

  
II.

When Jonty was small, his mum had died from some disease he could never pronounce. He had told Ross this on their second date, at a corner table in some pub off campus full of loud, obnoxious drunks watching a football game on telly. Ross had taken Jonty’s hand in his, warm and calloused and nice, and Jonty had gotten so used to telling the story with his apathetic, impassive tone that it had surprised him enough to move back, jostling his elbow against the table, watching his pint fall to the floor.

“Oh,” Jonty had said, his hand in Ross’, watching the glass roll away from the table.

“Shit,” Jonty had said. He didn’t apologize. He never apologized.

And Ross had looked at him with such sorrow in his eyes that Jonty had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from doing something stupid like cry over the spilled pint in a pub full of rowdy, cheering men who clearly didn’t give a shit about two college boys on a date. Ross moved his thumb in circles on the back of Jonty’s hand, palms hot together, fingers tight enough to break, soft and sure and so solid against him.

He had said, “That’s alright, then.” And maybe he was talking about the beer, but probably not, because Jonty felt his traitorous eyes welling up anyway, and he had bit down hard enough to taste blood on his tongue.

And Ross had said, “That’s alright, love.”

And that’s when Jonty had first known he had fallen in love.

  
III.

It had to be him. It had to be him, because if it wasn’t, because if he never got to find out what they did to Ross, if he never got to find out what they made him do, who he had become because he was never given a choice to grow up normally and show the world that he was worth so much more than just a pawn in some global game of war, some experiment that was terminated for its lack of progress, so much more than a boy who rowed, than a boy who loved. If he never found out why.

It had to be him.

It just had to.

  
IV.

Ross would kiss Jonty and he would taste like fall when the air is crisp and the leaves start tumbling off the trees and they would wrap themselves in duvets and watch the rain make ripples on the lake. He would taste like tea and chocolate biscuits and the crackle of thunder rumbling the window pane. He would taste like an oar just set into water, snaking its way through the waves, stretched tight with effort and exhaustion.

Ross would kiss Jonty and Jonty would know that he was worth something more than this, useless titles and sparkling trophies and pictures on posters. Jonty would know that there was Ross and there was him and that was enough to last forever, because there was never anything else that he needed, there was never anything more.

When Jonty kissed Ross for the last time, after his funny turn, he just tasted like defeat.

  
V.

Ross didn’t come to him. He knows this, he knows this and maybe he even knows why Ross went to Charlotte Arc instead of him, leaving a cryptic slip of paper under her carpet like a love note, maybe he knows that he was never one to believe what Ross wanted to tell him so badly, about the experiments and the hourglass and all the other boys before him, maybe he knows that he was never one to see what wasn’t there, to believe in something so monumentally terrible, to believe that Ross could have said yes to something that could have been devastating, that fucking was devastating, Ross lying on the ground with his halo of blood, maybe Jonty knows all this and can’t let himself believe in it.

Maybe he can’t let himself believe that Ross never trusted him enough to know what was going on, even if he only knew bits and pieces, even if he didn’t have the full story, even if Ross just knew that something was wrong and that he needed help and that Jonty could have, at least, at the very fucking least, told him that everything was going to be okay.

Ross didn’t come to him and maybe Jonty knows that he deserved it.

  
VI.

The only time that Jonty misses Ross is every single day.


End file.
